


Let Your Grace Enrapture Me

by gloriouscacophony (KatrinaKay)



Series: Ineffable Husbands Week 2019 - NSFW [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Angel/Demon Relationship, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderfluid Character, Other, Resolved Sexual Tension, Seduction, Shameless Smut, Transgender, Wing Grooming, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 18:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatrinaKay/pseuds/gloriouscacophony
Summary: Ineffable Husbands Week (NSFW edition) -  Day 1: Wings/Celestial Bodies/True FormIn which Aziraphale discovers they can manifest their wings and asks Crowley for help grooming them. Temptation and naughtiness ensue.





	Let Your Grace Enrapture Me

_Oh, you creep up like the clouds_  
_ And you set my soul at ease_  
_ Then you let your love abound_  
_ And you bring me to my knees_  
  
_—Fiona Apple _

It starts with two realizations: a) They can apparently manifest their wings as part of their corporations, and b) Aziraphale’s wings look like a rat’s nest. Crowley supposes he shouldn’t be surprised on either count. 

He makes these realizations one night when he pops into Aziraphale’s bookshop with cream cakes and a nice bottle of red. The angel is nowhere to be found, so Crowley sets his offerings on the closest flat surface (a mere foot of side table otherwise covered by books and papers, but far enough away from the former that the angel won’t kick him out grumbling about the danger to his manuscripts.)

After a few minutes of prowling the room impatiently, Crowley melts into an overstuffed armchair and stares at the water spots on the ceiling. Somehow Adam had made a perfectly pristine, new shop look like it was decades old. The angel probably appreciated that, as well as the other enhancements like an actual bedroom and bathroom (for long, hot soaks with a good book).

A soft cry of dismay sounds from somewhere upstairs, and Crowley bolts upright, instantly on guard. Something is hurting Aziraphale. 

He disappears and manifests right next to a mostly naked Aziraphale...and their massive wings. The angel promptly startles and falls over into the bathtub in a kerfuffle of feathers and towel.

“Gah, sorry, sorry!” Crowley exclaims, “Wha, wait, huh? Wings?!” His poor brain has ground to a halt, torn between the sight of so much perfectly creamy, bare skin (devoid of its usual three-piece suit and bowtie) and the wings that are a symbolic embodiment of Aziraphale’s grace, usually only seen in the celestial plane like the spheres of Heaven.

Aziraphale is huffing and puffing, trying to right themself and clamber out of the tub. They finally manage to arrange their towel and balance the massive wings that are too large for the room and escape the porcelain basin, hair mussed and cheeks aflame.

“Yes, they just appeared! I was up here, and curious, and I thought about it, and then here they were! I seem to be able to make them vanish and reappear, though. Perhaps a pocket dimension of some kind.”

From where he’s splayed against the wall, Crowley eyes Aziraphale’s wings. They’re not quite pure white, dappled with tan freckles and stripes like the faint markings of a snowy owl. They’re gorgeous...or they would be, if it wasn’t for the bent feathers and dirt and debris.

“Angel, they’re nice and all, but what the heaven’s happened to them? Did you fly through a tornado?”

Aziraphale twists to look at one (_don’t look at the way his towel is clinging to every curve and swell and...fajdliahewligje_, Crowley’s brain helpfully supplies) and frowns. “Oh dear, they do need a bit of tidying, don’t they?” They look up at Crowley and blink. “Would you...I hate to ask, but I can’t reach by myself and...would you help me?”

Crowley’s mouth goes dry. “Er, ah, hrgk, I don’t know if that’s…”

Aziraphale looks away, inspecting the closest primary. “I understand. It’s just…” They look up from under long lashes at the demon, purple-blue eyes boring into Crowley’s. “You have ever-so-nimble fingers.”

Crowley’s upstairs brain gives up and lets the downstairs one take the wheel. He’s currently in a male corporation, with all the associated bits of a biologically male body, and it’s never been more than a minor inconvenience. But he’s now cursing his choice of skin-tight trousers, because his sudden erection is being absolutely crushed under the restrictive fabric. After all, there’s a half-naked angel Crowley’s pined after for centuries gazing at him with a look that can only be described as “come-hither”, asking Crowley to help with an incredibly intimate task.

“We’ll…” he croaks out. “...need more space. T-the living room?”

Crowley waits until Aziraphale vanishes, then adjusts his cock and lets out a deep, slow exhale, looking heavenward and closing his eyes as he prays for mercy.  


* * *

  
Downstairs, he kneels in the nest of pillows on the floor behind Aziraphale, who’s still only wearing the da- blessed towel. (He’d ask the angel to put more clothes on, but the way things are going, they would return wearing some lacy scrap of knickers or something and give him a nosebleed.)

There’s an errant white-blond curl at the nape of the angel’s neck, and Crowley wants to press a kiss there, just under Aziraphale’s ear. He shudders, dizzy with arousal, but shakes his head to clear his thoughts.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asks, looking over their shoulder and demurely draped wings to check on him. “Are you all right back there?”

“Yep, yep, totally fine. Which one would you like me- where should I start?”

“Maybe the outer primaries and work your way in?” They shrug and hold up their left wing. “Goodness, this feels so strange, being able to feel my wings on the physical plane. Please...be gentle,” they murmur.

_ I’m being punished, aren’t I? _ Crowley thinks. _ I’m being tempted to seduce an _ angel_, what kind of twisted...well, what’s the worst that can happen, I go to Hell? Been there, done that, got the souvenir t-shirt. _

He clears his throat and shuffles over to the end of Aziraphale’s wing. Tentatively, he reaches out a hand and ever so slightly lets his fingertips graze one of the primaries, as they both hold their breath to see if he explodes or discorporates or simply vanishes.

After a moment, nothing happens, and both of them exhale in relief. “I didn’t think there was any risk, but…”

“Still here and in one piece, angel,” Crowley says with a soft smile. The pupils of his slitted eyes are wide in the dim light as he gives Aziraphale a reassuring look. “Let me know if I hurt you, okay?”

The angel hums in assent, then the hum deepens as Crowley begins to straighten feathers and comb out debris (straw and leaves and bits of stardust). “It...feels like…you know when you run your fingers through your hair and give your scalp a good itch?”

Crowley chuckles quietly and continues his ministrations, carding his long fingers through the sturdier primaries and continuing up and over to the softer, fluffier coverts. He’s leaning over the angel’s shoulder as he inspects the marginal coverts when he hears the breath catch in Aziraphale’s throat. He works his hands closer to where the patagium meets shoulder blade, and at the barest hint of contact the angel moans ever so slightly.

“Does that feel good, angel?” Crowley murmurs, ghosting his fingertips over the sensitive spot.

“O-oh, my, _ yes_,” the angel groans out, and Crowley leans down to press a light kiss just so.

The fine hairs at the nape of Aziraphale’s neck rise, and the angel shudders at the warm, slightly wet contact. “Again. Please.”

But while Aziraphale might be alluring, Crowley’s the Tempter. So, shocked at himself for his self-control, he chuckles and pulls away (_the very _ last _ thing he wants to do right now but there’s still one more wing to go and he’s going to make Aziraphale _ beg _ for it_).

“Other wing, please,” he says, willing his voice into nonchalance. The angel is still for a moment, turning to glance at him and seeing an innocently bland expression. They roll their eyes and extend the other wing for inspection, but they can’t hide the flush blooming across their skin and their eyes, the pupils blown wide with arousal.

Crowley’s hands only shake a bit as he begins at the primaries again, straightening bent edges and combing out dirt. When he gets to the lesser secondary coverts on this side, though, there’s one feather that just doesn’t look right. He maneuvers the wing closer, bending down to peer at it.

“Angel, I’m sorry, I think this one has to come out. It’s dead.”

“Oh. That’s not going to feel very pleasant, is it? Go ahead, but quickly, please.” They tense in anticipation, but Crowley runs a hand over the bristling wing, soothing it back down.

“Okay, ready? Count of three. One—” And he yanks the feather out, straight down.

“Ow! Ouch! You said on the count of three!” Aziraphale twists, trying to break free. Their wing slaps Crowley in the face. “That hurt!”

“Shhh, it’s all right, angel,” Crowley says, licking a finger and wiping away the tiny drop of pearlescent blue blood from a nearby feather. “All done, see?” He sits up and bends over the wing to hand Aziraphale the loose feather...then, as he moves to sit back, brushes his mouth over the rapid-fire pulse in the angel’s neck.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale hums, dropping the feather and craning his neck to the side, inviting more. And Crowley isn’t a saint, he’s a demon, he’s the Great Tempter, and by someone he’s not made of stone. He’s weak. So he takes the invitation, and gladly.

“Ssso patient,” he hisses, pressing his mouth to the same spot firmly. “So gorgeoussss, you know. How can you not…” Another kiss, and his hands rake through the feathers of Aziraphale’s wings, closing in on the patagium. “Ssso...tempting.” And he runs his fingers _ there_, and the angel’s back arches as their head falls back, lips parting to groan out his name in a way that Crowley’s never heard before.

“Angel,” he murmurs into sweat-damp blond curls, “turn around.”

In a blink, Aziraphale is facing him, _ straddling _ him, wings flared wide as the angel presses him back against the couch with a bruising grip. Their cornflower-blue eyes crackle with a divine energy, like silvery lightning, and Crowley can feel their arousal soaking through his trousers. He opens his mouth to speak, but the angel muffles his words with their mouth, plush lips pressed desperately to his.

When Aziraphale frees his arms to tangle their fingers in his rust-red hair, Crowley fists his hands carefully in their wings and tugs gently, wringing a startled, broken cry from them as their eyes close and their thighs tremble. 

“Done with clothes, yeah?” Crowley asks, and Aziraphale vanishes the layers of fabric separating their fire-hot skin. This time, it’s Crowley who groans aloud as the angel’s soft, wet folds come into contact with his hard, aching cock. 

“_Angel_, good Lor- hur, hrmk, ah, I want…” He’s babbling senselessly, feeling faint as any last blood in his brain rushes to his erection...and then, _ and then_, Aziraphale is sliding slickly along his length, teasing him with rocking motions just shy of the angle he’s begging for. 

“Crowley, m-my dear…” They stutter out, eyes meeting his in desperation as they move. “Can I— I want—I’m not sure what will happen—” 

“Don’t care, I want—yes, _ yessss_—” Crowley’s head drops back and he grips the meat of Aziraphale’s hips hard enough to bruise as the angel takes him in one quick, deep thrust. He nearly loses consciousness at the tight, warm clench of flesh caressing every inch of him as they both let out cries that shatter every glass surface nearby. 

“_Crowley_,” Aziraphale sobs out, overwhelmed, and the demon catches the sound with a press of his mouth, snaking his tongue through parted lips to meet the angel’s in hot, wet laps that only makes him throb inside of them.

He wants to tell Aziraphale _ You feel perfect, I’ve wanted you for so long, I want to make you scream my name so all of Heaven and Hell can hear it_, but he can’t form the thoughts, lost in the angel’s embrace.

As if unable to stay still any longer, Aziraphale slides their hands to the couch behind Crowley and grinds their hips, a movement the demon chases with hard, sharp thrusts of his own. He can feel pressure building, the oncoming tide of release as the angel rides him, panting and moaning and absolutely lost in lust. 

“A-angel, I’m—your grace, I’m not s-sure—” He tugs at Aziraphale’s wings in warning, but it has the opposite effect: the angel cries out and jerks against him, and he gasps, spilling into the angel as he comes with a wrecked, wrung-out cry.

“You feel so _ good_, I can’t—I’m going to—” Aziraphale cries out and comes, clenching around him in a tight, wet grip as bright light blinds him.  


* * *

  
When the spots fade from his vision, Aziraphale is slouched against him, breathing heavily, and they’re cocooned in tan-white wings, and he’s miraculously neither discorporated nor dead. But it’s not the first time he and the angel have rewritten the rules of the universe to suit themselves...and it’s not like any other angel and demon have ever gotten close enough to try something like this.

He laughs, thrilled to be in the same place and the same corporation and here, with Aziraphale, who’d fucked him into metaphorical but thankfully not literal oblivion. The angel props themself up on shaky arms and presses their forehead to his, smiling gently.

“I should be sorry, because I realized what you were going to say, but I couldn’t stop, it was too much,” they apologize before giving him a gentle kiss that sets Crowley’s insides fluttering like so many moths. “Are you all right?”

“I know,” he replies, helping the angel ease off of his softening cock (he winces at the too-much sensation against the sensitive flesh but it’s a good hurt) and cleaning up their mess with a wave of his hands.

“I’m fine, angel. I’m fine, you’re fine...well, more than fine, I’d sssay,” Crowley says, waggling his eyebrows in a mock leer. “I thought I was supposed to be the tempter, but apparently Upstairs decided to save a little for itself, hm?”

“Oh, stop that,” Aziraphale says, blushing and averting their eyes, embarrassed. “I told I like your hands.”

“Hmmm, well then, perhaps next time I can find new ways to put them to use that you’ll _ like_.”

“Next time?” The angel jerks their head up, eyes wide and expression eager. 

“Oh, yesss,” Crowley hisses, nipping at the delicate skin near Aziraphale’s collarbone (and hoping it’ll bruise just a bit) before moving away. He closes his eyes, concentrates...and manifest his wings, massive, sleek, ebony feathers that shimmer and gleam with dark, sensuous grace. He bites his lip and looks back up at the angel with a hungry look that says he’s already imagining all the things he wants to do. “I need someone to help with _ my _ wings, too, you know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oooh boy, I am so excited for part 2 of Ineffable Husbands Week; it's been a long time since I've written filthy smut.
> 
> This is unbeta'd, and I'm a cis, hetero woman. If I've mis-tagged this fic, please accept my sincere apology. I'm absolutely happy to correct any mistakes to use the correct terms.
> 
> And if you need help with the wing anatomy terms, here's the handy chart that I use: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/ff/af/84/ffaf84f5e5f340514080368a240e52b1.jpg


End file.
